


The Good Girl

by WendyNerd



Series: Switch [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:44:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King of the Seven Realms takes the Lady Protector of the North to wife and to bed. The Lady Protector, who only ever wanted to be a good girl, fulfills her ambition.</p><p>Basically, this is a fun little series of pure porn with a D/s edge to it. This is part one, where Jon and Sansa explore their sexuality a bit on their wedding night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> First, I want to thank bbanziaz for her beta work!
> 
> For all of you who know my other work: this is NOT really meant to be in the style of Trials and Tricks, The Lost Lion, or Snake in the Grass. This is basically going to be my unwind project. A series of smutty, D/s erotic one-shots starring my OTP meant to be little more than some fun porn. Updates will be inconsistent. Continuity may be defied. This is just pure junk food (but hopefully fun and well-written junk food). The D/s in this one is VERY tame and doesn't contain much kink at all beyond some hinted power dynamics and titles and stuff. Mostly because in this one, Sansa loses her virginity and both are just beginning to explore things. It will get kinkier as it progresses though. Hope you enjoy. :)

His relationship with his wife shocked him. And it shocked him for reasons beyond their prior connection. It shocked him that Sansa Stark, who served as regent of over half of Westeros, who was always such a perfect lady, would be happy and enthusiastic about marrying him. At first he thought it might be the crown---- Sansa had greatly looked forward to being queen as a child. But the more he thought about her past and experiences, the less sense that made. She expressed far more misgivings about attending the court of King’s Landing than she had the first time she went, and seemed far more invested in continuing her work serving as regent for her brother than she did in banquets and fashion.

For the first couple of weeks following her arrival at court, Sansa submitted so many documents to the small council regarding the North each day that finally Jon just decided to place her on the council so they could spare time and parchment. In the documents finalizing their marriage, she added a clause saying that while attending council meetings, she wished to be addressed not as queen, but according to her role as Lady Protector of the North, with “my Lady”, “Lady Protector”, “Lady Stark” or “Lady Sansa” being more acceptable than “my Queen” or “your Grace” when in the council chambers. While everyone remarked that she’d undoubtedly make an excellent queen, there were no signs of her flaunting her status.

She didn’t seem that invested in asserting her title, but she did seem enthusiastic about him. The day after she arrived, she requested a private audience in her chambers, and Jon arrived to find food laid out: she wanted to have lunch. When he came upon her in the godswood, she assured him that he owed her no apologies for interrupting her prayers, and welcomed his company. Lunch and prayers together became a habit, and, after a while, evening walks in the garden did as well.

Jon found he enjoyed her company far more than he expected. As weeks went by, his awkwardness around her melted away, and they became close. His attitude on the marriage-that it was a prudent but awkward political arrangement-altered drastically to the point where he was eagerly looking forward to to their wedding day.

Every night Jon went to bed, he would stare at his pillow and imagine a cascade of red hair upon it. Blue eyes looking back at him. A sweet, shy smile.

The wedding itself was a chore, with toasts and dancing and excess and all manner of things he was uncomfortable with. His wife looked dazzling in a gown of ivory and white,with opals and diamonds in her hair. He very, very much liked the look of her in the black and red Targaryen cloak he’d laid on her shoulders.

But then the bedding came and Jon was furious. Hands fell upon his wife and Jon nearly ran every lordling in the hall through with Longclaw. He watched, nervous for her, as the men of the court laughingly carried her off, leaving bits of fabric behind them and making ribald japes. When Jon shouted for the women stripping him to hurry, they laughed at his enthusiasm, but Jon felt only worry.

When he was delivered into the bedchamber, Sansa was down to her shift, being tossed onto the bed as numerous hands began tearing at the sheer linen.

“Come on, your Grace, let us see what kings will feast upon! Just because we can’t taste it, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get a peek!”

Sansa furiously moved her hands up to cover her chest. “Get off!”

“You’ve got to be naked to serve your king!”

She scrambled underneath the black silk covers then and yanked off the linen, obscured from view. She threw it out. “There you go! Now leave!”

There was a collective groan throughout the chamber. The ladies all smirked at him. “You won’t deny us, will you, your Grace?”

Jon was down to his smallclothes. “I’m afraid so, My ladies.” He pulled himself away, disappointing them, and got into the bed with Sansa. The party sighed and walked out, making japes.

“Put it in her arse!” One of them yelled. All of the blood drained from Jon’s face.

“Not that you would know, Ser Tymon, but that’s not something you do with women!” Sansa called back. Laughter. Jon gaped at her.

The door slammed, and Jon looked at her face. “Are you alright, my Lady?”

Clutching the covers up to her neck, Sansa nodded. “I didn’t like it, but it’s to be expected. Most men are animals. I’m just glad I get to spend the rest of the night with a man who isn’t.”

A blush came to his cheeks and Jon felt his heart quicken. “I promise, I won’t… I won’t do anything to you that you don’t want. We can wait.”

“Why would we wait? I’m a woman grown and flowered, you are a man grown. We are wed. Do you… do you not want to?”

“I… no… I just… I don’t want to scare you.”

She stared. “You don’t scare me, Jon. That’s why I married you.”

Those were the most bittersweet words he’d ever heard. “I’m…” He paused, trying to cure the dryness of his mouth. “I’m glad you’re not afraid of me.”

“But… I don’t know what to do, though,” she confessed, blushing. “I’ve never done this before. Not truly. Should I… should I put the covers down so you can see me?”

Jon stared. Then he had to stifle a laugh. “You know about buggery, but you don’t know what to do here?”

She flinched, and Jon’s mirth was swiftly replaced with guilt.

“I know about some things people do, but not what… what you want to do, or how I should act. Septa Mordane and Mother explained the bare bones, of course. And I’ve heard all the jokes, though I’ve learned to doubt them. I know a few things, but I don't know if they're right for you. But I… I want to know what you want. I want to do this right and be a good wife.”

Jon remembered being a green boy, fumbling in the furs with Ygritte, her instructions, her touches, her guiding hands. But he’d never been in this position before. “Well, um, what would you like?”

“I would like to please my husband.”

“No, I mean…” He blushed and looked down. “What… have you ever… thought about it? Imagined it? Touched yourself, maybe?”

She went as red as her hair. “I-I-“

“Please tell me. It’s alright. It’s not a bad thing,” he said gently.

She looked at her lap. “I… I don’t know if I’m ready to tell you. Can we just try what you like and… see how it works?”

“What if I do something wrong? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll tell you. I promise. Just… tell me.”

Jon took a deep breath. “Um, alright then. Well…”

His eyes traveled up and down her, taking in the pretty blue eyes, the quivering pink lips, the soft white skin pressed against the black fabric. She still had her diadem on, and the soft netted half-veil of silver wire that covered her scalp. Jon reached out to remove the crown, but when he tugged, it yanked at her skin and she yelped. It was pinned in.

“Sorry!” Jon cursed himself.

“You want me to remove it?”

“It would be more comfortable.”

Sansa turned away towards the side table, reached up and slowly began removing the jeweled pins that held it on. From this angle, half of her pale, white back was exposed, with a curtain of auburn hair hanging down to her waist, blood red. He could see her hips, and could almost see the top of her arse. He observed the soft way her body curved in to form her small waist, then flared out to ribs and chest. It was perfect but for one surprisingly large scar peeking out from the ends of her hair. Without thinking, Jon reached out and pulled her hair aside. The scar was nearly six inches long, a silvery mark interrupting the milky expanse of her skin. Another, four inches long, intersected with it, and a third stripe marked her left shoulder. There were a series of small, curved lines, each about a centimeter long, four in each. Jon knew those marks. He had a couple of his own. The marks that came from being punched with an iron-covered fist.

His wife shivered and removed the last of her hair ornaments. Jon pulled back.

“Is something wrong, your Grace?” She turned her head, still clutching the coverlet to her.

Jon bit his lip, wetted them, then spoke. “Who did that to you?”

A shadow passed over her face. She knew what he meant. “Dead men,” she said simply, “I don’t want to think on it. I did not enter this chamber for bad memories and pity.”

She turned around again to face him completely. “It’s done, Jon. There’s nothing to be done about it. Please don’t think about it. I’ll keep them covered, if you prefer. Just don’t think on them.”

Anger boiled up within him. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, I promise.”

“I know,” she smiled sadly. “But please, don’t think on it. All they managed to do was leave a few marks. They couldn’t do more than that. They couldn’t ruin me. I’m more than a few scars.”

In the candlelight, bits of her hair shone copper and her eyes practically glowed. At some angles, her skin was cast in an amber glow.

“I know,” he whispered.

She hesitated. “May I… may I show you?”

“Please.”

Smiling timidly, she got on her knees, then dropped the coverlet. She flushed as she did so, looking away but holding her arms to her sides determinedly, her tapered hands balled into tight fists, struggling not to cover herself.

She was all white skin and red hair. There was another mark, a pinkish horizontal line across her slim thighs indicating a long object had struck her, a reed or possibly even the blunt edge of a sword. Jon swallowed and forced himself not to focus on it. _One square inch of her is more than beautiful enough to make up for any scar. She wants you to see that. So look._

Look he did. There were faint marks from another fist on her belly, but otherwise she was so flawless it actually hurt (particularly in his groin). Her body looked so incredibly soft and perfect. She had long, long limbs, slim and tapered, her arms having surprisingly defined muscles. Her hips flared out delicately, her neck was a long, elegant arch. A freckle or two dotted her collarbone, begging to be kissed. Her teats were utterly magnificent: sizeable and high, tipped in a deep rose discs. At the apex between her thighs sat a patch of coarse, red curls. When he gazed at it, he couldn’t help but notice a slight glisten on her inner thighs. And all at once he swore he could smell it, a heavy scent that was greater than the sweet, lemony perfume she wore.

The room was so warm, and his smallclothes were so tight.

Jon got to his knees nervously. If you want to look, you have to show. Fair enough, but he feared scaring her, so he clutched the coverlet to just cover his manhood. “Sansa…”

She looked up meekly. “Yes, my King?”

“You don’t have to call me that.”

“I know.”

 _Odd._ Jon shook his head. “Well, alright. Would… would you like to see me?”

Sansa bit her lip, her eyes trailing down his bare chest and stomach slowly before settling on the black cloth. “Yes,” she said in a raspy voice, “I would very much like to see you.

Jon dropped the coverlet at once. Sansa inhaled sharply when she saw the bulge against the cursed linen that contained him. Her reaction was the opposite of what he’d been afraid of. Instead of disgust, fear, or disdain, she eyes fixed on him with what almost looked like hunger. Jon’s hands went to his laces, but Sansa reached out.

“May I?”

 _YES YES YES YES YES._ Jon nodded weakly. “Alright.”

Her fingers went to his laces and his hips jerked at the first brush of her fingertips. And the second. And the third. He fumed at himself for bucking like a green boy, but Sansa kept going until he burst free from the cloth with a heavy groan.

“Oh,” Sansa said, eyes widening. “That’s very… I didn’t… I didn’t expect—“

“What?!” _I’ve disgusted her._ His stomach sank.

She jumped a bit. “I didn’t expect it to be so nice.”

That… was not the answer he expected. “Nice?”

“The couple I've seen have been ugly. But yours isn’t so… May I touch it?

“Of course.”

Sansa smiled and brushed her fingers along the tip. It was downright electric.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“NO!” He gulped. “Keep going, please.”

She wrapped her hand around it slowly, and started to run up and down his length. Jon panted in shallow gasps. At one point, she traced her thumb along the vein and Jon had to pull back.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. Their eyes met. “I thought you might like it.”

“I did!” he gasped. “Too much. I need to hold back a bit, or…”

“Oh.” She blushed, then looked at him curiously.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just…”

“Please, tell me.”

She still hesitated, glancing downwards for a second, then meeting his eyes. “If you don’t mind me asking, what of other women? Have you… have you been with many?”

“Two others," he answered.

She looked a bit shaken. “Right now? Are they courtiers?”

“No!” His jaw dropped again, and Sansa looked away. He’d answered too harshly. Jon reached out, having not dared to before now, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “There’s only been two other women ever. They were Free folk. I haven’t seen Val in two years, though.”

Her face lit up. “So, no one?”

“No one else.” _Why would I need anyone else?_ It occurred to him that saying something along those lines might be prudent. “Sansa, look at you.  How could I possibly… there’s no one else to want. I’ve got a banquet in front of me, why should I venture elsewhere for table-scraps?”

He cringed. _Leave the sweet words to the bards, you fool._ Jon made a mental note to venture to the library and find some books with good love poems in them. Better he use something that actually sounded halfway intelligent, something she deserved to hear, not idiotic ramblings that sounded like they came from a green boy. _I compared her to food, for pity’s sake. Food._ “You’re not like food,” he said suddenly, “I mean… you’re like… better things. Flowers and stars and… beautiful things. All of the beautiful, good things.”

“All of them?”

He nodded, looking down at her breasts. “All of them.” While he knew comparing her to food wasn’t romantic, there was some truth there. He definitely wanted to devour her. And he couldn’t really decide where he wanted to put his mouth first.

 _I’m King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. I’m Lord of the Seven Realms. I’m a dragonrider and a war hero. I’ve made love with two women. And I’m tongue-tied when confronted with a naked woman._ But it wasn’t just _a_ naked woman, it was _this_ naked woman. _The hair between her legs is an even darker red,_ he thought, blinking rapidly.

“Your Grace…”

“You can call me Jon,” he reminded her.

“I know,” she replied again. She glanced down. “Should… should I lie back now? And open my legs?”

 _Oh gods._ “You… you may. If… if you’re ready. But…”

“Yes?”

 _I could lie down and you could get on top so I could watch your teats bounce._ But the words died in his throat. He still very much liked the idea of being over her, looking down into her eyes and enclosing her in his body.

“Only if you’re ready.”

“I… I think I am. I’m ...wet between my legs and-”

Jon groaned.

“What?”

“You are wet, aren’t you? I thought I saw…” His eyes fixed on her cunt. “Let me see, spread your legs and open your folds.”

Sansa’s breathing got a little heavier, but she did so, spreading her knees. Her right hand slipped down to her cunt, parting herself so the pink flesh within was clearly visible. Liquid glistened against her flesh, her fingers. Jon couldn’t stop looking at her nub. He licked his lips.

“How would you like a kiss, Sweetling?” He said, his voice lower.

“Please, my King,” her as soft as a kiss itself.

Before he could move, though, Sansa came towards him, pressed herself against him, and joined her lips to his. Jon moaned, pleased if not surprised. Her mouth tasted of summer wine and felt lush and soft. Her perfume was intoxicating. His hands climbed her body, seizing and squeezing her soft flesh and going up her arms, to her shoulders, then her neck, then her face and hair. With one hand he cupped her cheek as their tongues met one another, and with the other, he ran his fingers through her hair, then took a lock of it and rubbed it against his cheek. It felt as soft and cool and smooth as he imagined. The hand on her cheek drifted down to her breasts, slipping between them to grab one of the soft pillows of flesh and caress the smooth skin. She moaned and moved against him. Her mound made contact with his cock, and he could feel her wetness along it.

Jon finally pulled away slightly, and looked deep into her eyes. Her mouth was swollen, her skin flushed, her hair a little messy. Her chest rose and fell with quick bursts. Their eyes met.

“…Now, your Grace?”

“You can call me Jon,” he said, panting. His conviction in saying that was starting to deplete, though. He found he liked her addressing him by title more than he wanted to admit.

“I know…” She panted. “…your Grace.”

 _Oh._ Jon felt like he’d just found a long-lost missing key to a box of treasure. A smile came to his face. “You like having a king in your bed, do you?”

Her eyes flashed. “Yes, my King. It pleases me to please my royal husband.”

“You were always eager to please, weren’t you?” He asked. This was truly strange, though not at all unpleasant. He found he liked this just as much as he liked it when he used to get ordered around by Ygritte and Val.

“Yes, your Grace. I’m a good girl.”

“Yes, you are a good girl." He just couldn't help grinning at this. He tried to adopt a less eager tone though, hoping to sound authoritative and soothing. "And a good, beautiful lady. And good, beautiful ladies deserve to get good lord’s kisses.” He took a deep breath, then laid down on his back, propping his head against the pillows. “Come here and get your lord’s kiss.”

She began to straddle his hips, but he held up a hand. “No. Knees here,” he said, indicating the space around his neck.

He lifted his shoulders a bit as she came up nervously. Jon rested his shoulders on the back of her calves, the scent of her absolutely dizzying. Unable to take it anymore, he lifted his head and…

“Why do you- OH!”

Her upper body fell forward and she clutched the headboard. Jon smirked, letting her juices coat his tongue as it danced with the spongy flesh of her nub. Jon put his hands to her hips, holding her up as she moaned. Sansa began to move her hips and her breasts bounced. “Oh! Oh! Oh! My king!”

 _You taste like summer and spring combined._ He almost said this, but he didn’t think his well-mannered wife would appreciate him interrupting or talking with his mouth full. So he focused on the glorious meal attached to his face. Sansa dipped her head back then, still clutching the wings of the dragon-shaped headboard, and the ends of her long hair brushed his fingers and knuckles.

His hands went to her arse, and he squeezed it, loving the soft flesh in his hands. Sansa gave noises of approval. Jon lapped at her like a hungry kitten searching for cream. He increased his pressure and speed, and Sansa’s hands came down, tangling in his hair and pressing him even more into her mound so that he could barely breathe. Jon didn’t care. He didn’t need air anymore.

Finally, she burst around them, peaking with a sharp cry and a buck of her hips so harsh Jon thought for a second that his neck would snap. It would definitely be a bit sore in the morning. Sansa fell forward, hands pressing down to the pillows to hold herself up. Jon felt her heartbeat around his mouth, her cunny and bud twitching against his face.

After a while, though, it turned out that Jon really did need air. He murmured against her, his voice incoherent from muffling but loud enough for her to lift her head. This time her “Oh!” was of a different sort, and she scrambled off of him. Jon gasped.

“I’m so sorry!” she said, lying on her side next to him, eyes wide.

Jon began to laugh once he’d caught his breath. “It’s fine. Even if you killed me, I honestly think being suffocated between your legs would be a wonderful way to die.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It is. Your king decrees it.”

“Yes, your Grace.” She blushed. “What… what did you call that?”

He glanced at her, grinning. “The Lord’s Kiss. Or that’s what my first love called it.”

“It was beautiful. I’ve never felt like that… did you like it?”

“Like, I said, I could die that way and be happy.”

“I wouldn’t be.” Sansa shuddered. “My friend Myranda… her husband died while in bed with her. It sounds just horrible and I… don’t do it if I could hurt you. As lovely as it is, I-”

“--Sansa.”

“What?”

He laughed. “I was joking. Don’t worry, I… that would never happen.”

“I was gripping you very tightly, though, and-”

He smiled. “If it makes you feel better, I promise I’ll hold you back. I can even do it with you on your back if it makes you feel better.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “What about you, your Grace?” She glanced down at his cock. “Oh gods, it’s red! Does it hurt?”

“No.” _Yes._ He looked at her urgently. “If you’re ready, we could…”

Sansa’s eyes went wide and she smiled. “Yes.”

Jon wiped his mouth and climbed over her. Sansa’s legs parted and he hitched them over his hips. His tip brushed her lower lips and she squeaked. It was at that moment that he knew he was well and truly in love.

“I’m a maiden,” she said quickly, “But---“

He groaned and stopped. “Yes?”

“I won’t… my… when I was riding as a girl-”

He kissed her then. _I don’t fucking care._ When he broke away, he looked down. “Ready?”

She nodded.

Jon summoned every bit of self-control he had and went slowly. She was slick as the Wall itself and just as beautiful, but so very, very warm. He moaned and her breathing deepened. It felt so good, so very good. But his heart cracked when he saw her wince.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

She wrapped her hands around his back. “Don’t be.”

He paused once he was fully inside her, and waited for her to adjust. It seemed to take forever, and just when Jon thought he’d lose control, she relaxed and smiled. That light returned to her eyes. “Please keep going, my King.”

Jon thanked the Old Gods, the New, R’hllor, and the Drowned God and began moving. He tried going as slow as possible. Sansa’s eyes drooped shut, and she bent her head back. Jon dipped his face down to nuzzle her long neck, licking at the beads of perspiration that dotted her dewy skin.

She began moving her hips to meet his thrusts. “That’s right, Sweet Girl,” he growled into her ear, “Good… lovely…”

“Oh! Your Grace! Please!”

Jon moaned. “Yes?” He hissed.

“H-harder! Please!”

Other desperate but adorably polite requests for speed and pressure followed. Jon moaned, his hands moving to her breasts as he intensified his thrusts. He kneaded her breasts, reveling in the soft flesh, and pinched her nipples. When he did, Sansa arched her back, so he did it harder. When their mouths joined, it was bruising and wild, as wild as anything he’d done before.

She peaked again, digging her nails into his back and begging her king to fill her with his seed. It was a request that he very easily granted a few seconds later.

When he tried to fall to her side, she gripped him with her ankles and held him. “Stay, please. Please, Jon.”

He kissed her cheek. “You don’t have to ask.”

They pressed up against one another and he nuzzled her neck.

“You’re a goddess,” he murmured.

“Mmmm… Sounds exhausting. I’d just rather be a girl. A good girl.”

Jon glanced upward at her. “You are a good girl. A very good girl. Very good.”

A smile lovely as the spring came to her face.

“Thank you. I only ever wanted to be good.”

“Well, you are. The king himself says so, so it must be true.”

Sansa blushed. “It’s… you don’t think it’s bad? That I… I like that? It’s not just that that I love. Joffrey was king. Robert Baratheon was king. It’s not that. It’s you. I like you as my king. I’m so glad it’s you. Someone good and kind and gentle and strong. It just makes me so happy. Too many awful, horrible…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to think about that. Not now. You’re here, and you’re king now and...”

“And you’re queen,” he said, smiling. “The people were cheering your name today. They already love you.”

“I made sure of that,” Sansa replied. “I promised myself I would, if I were ever queen. I wasn’t sure how to do it, then. But I found out how to earn that sort of love. The best love is the love earned.”

His heart quickened. That was so, so beautiful. And perfect. He felt a little mad with love for her. But it tugged at his heart as well. He had to ask, just to make sure. “Is… is that why you are so eager to please and serve your king? Because I-”

“What?”

“I love you already, my Lady. You don’t need to... you earned it long before. Not by being pleasing, by being you.”

She made a little whining noise in the pit of her throat. Her eyes shined. “Well, I liked pleasing my king,” she replied, her voice adopting a somewhat stubborn edge. “I want to do it again. But…”

“But?”

“When... when I’ve… when I’m more used to it... I may… I may wish to be pleased myself. Not as… maybe not as your good girl. But as your queen.”

A chill went up his spine. A pleasant one. “Could I be your bastard boy when you’re queen?”

She smiled. “Yes,” she replied, eyes gleaming. “But… I’m not sure I’m ready to be a queen in the bedchamber yet. I’m still getting used to being queen elsewhere, and that takes precedence. So for now, I’d like to just be your good girl when we’re here. Do you mind?”

Jon shook his head. “Not at all. I much prefer being king lying in here with you than I do sitting upon that ugly iron chair. In fact, I’ve never looked forward to monarchy more.”

By then, he had slipped out of her, but he found himself hardening again. “In fact, I think it’s time to hold court again.”

It wasn’t lost on Jon that his good girl hadn’t yet told him that she loved him. _But she’s right, the best love is the love earned._ He’d earn it. And it would be that much lovelier to hear.


End file.
